


Huntian

by peachenhun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachenhun/pseuds/peachenhun
Summary: When Jongdae is close to Oh Sehun, he understands what love is meant to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I think this turned out darker than you were looking for prompter. Sploops.

“…and you’re sure you’re in the right place?”  
  
Had it been any other coach, Jongdae would’ve felt a bit offended. He’s no different from the dozen other boys who showed up for basketball try-outs, yet he’s the only one stuck standing on the sideline while the others have been told to sprint the length of the court until they “ either puke or go home.” He’s a head shorter than everyone else in the gymnasium and he’s never successfully dribbled a ball between his legs, but he deserves a fair shot.  
  
Had it been any other coach, Jongdae would’ve frowned, puffed out his slight chest and typed a list of his athletic skills and accomplishments – while he’s got no coordination for ball sports, he’s a decent cross-country runner and capable of keeping his balance when on waterskies.  
  
But this _isn’t_ any other old out-of-shape coach he’s talking to, this is Coach Oh Sehun. The same Coach Oh Sehun who pulls in the faculty parking lot on a motorcycle and whips his tousled black hair in the breeze. The same Coach Oh Sehun who religiously wears long-sleeved compression shirts and track pants and is adored by every student he teaches, boys because he’s an ace at sports and hates formality, girls because his face belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine and his shoulders never seem to end.  
  
The same Coach Oh Sehun who’s held Jongdae’s heart since he was a second year.  
  
Back then, he was the prickly yet dedicated P.E. teacher Jongdae dreaded seeing every day of class. He was a militant advocate for maintaining physical fitness early in life and wouldn’t let a day pass where his students weren’t bone-tired and drenched in sweat. Jongdae’s no slouch with keeping healthy, but his P.E. class was in the middle of the day, meaning he had to go through the rest of his classes exhausted and clouded in cheap body spray.  
  
One day near the end of that year, Jongdae stayed late after classes in the computer lab, finishing assignments that piled up while he recovered from a cold. By the time he’d finished, the last bus off school grounds already pulled away, meaning he had to walk to the nearest public bus stop instead. The orange sky was fading to black and he still had residual sniffles leftover from his cold, wiping at his nose with a wad of tissue as he trudged out of the gates.  
  
Coach Oh appeared with the hum of his motorcycle engine then, breaking on the curb next to Jongdae and tugging off his helmet. Jongdae had to gape for a moment, unaccustomed to seeing one of his strictest teachers look so…human, and he almost missed Coach Oh’s question.  
  
“Helmet hair,” Jongdae had murmured, staring dazed at the hair trapped tight against Coach Oh’s scalp.  
  
Coach Oh’s eyebrow twitched. “All right, fine, you can find a bus. Little asshole,” he grumbled, ready to put his helmet back on until Jongdae stopped him.  
  
“W-wait! I didn’t mean – I was, uh, I’m sorry!” Jongdae bowed his head twice for good measure, weathering Coach Oh’s hostile glare with a sincere smile. There was no way he would’ve chosen paying for a slow bus trip over a free ride home on his meager budget, even if he was slightly afraid of riding a motorcycle. “I do need a ride, please. Thanks, coach.”  
  
Coach Oh snorted and popped open the compartment of motorcycle, tossing the extra helmet to Jongdae. It didn’t look as cool as Coach Oh’s full-face helmet, but it would keep his skull intact. “Strap it on right if you don’t want to die.”  
  
Jongdae shuddered and fit the helmet over his head but the loose straps refused to work with him. It took several seconds of pitiful struggling for Coach Oh to sigh, shut off his motorcycle and climb off to help Jongdae.  
  
While he’d tightened the straps under Jongdae chin, Jongdae couldn’t help appraising Coach Oh’s face. Up close and able to see his pursed pink lips and the stern line of his brow, Jongdae realized why Coach Oh got so much attention from the girls in class. It wasn’t just his handsome face or his impressive height, but the cold aura around him that made him so alluring.  
  
“There,” Coach Oh said, startling Jongdae out of his daze when he patted Jongdae’s secured helmet with a heavy hand. It was probably meant to annoy him, yet Jongdae could only blush and worry over his suddenly rapid heartbeat.  
  
“Hop on and hold on tight.” Coach Oh smoothly straddled his motorcycle and started the engine. Jongdae followed behind, not quite as smooth with his short legs, and sat awkwardly behind Coach Oh while he decided where to hold onto. It wasn’t like there were a lot of options, either Coach Oh’s shoulders or around his waist, but Coach Oh’s torso was long and reaching up for his shoulders didn’t feel very secure, while holding him around the waist seemed far too intimate now that Jongdae could only think of how nice and soft his lips looked.  
  
The rev of the engine frightened Jongdae into making a quick choice, practically tackling Coach Oh’s back and holding onto his waist for precious life. Coach Oh had snorted, amused at Jongdae’s expense, and pulled away from the curb, following Jongdae’s directions to his home. Jongdae kept his eyes closed for most of the ride, partially afraid of watching the motorcycle whizz through traffic, mostly enjoying cradling his head on Coach Oh’s broad back and hugging his firm torso. He hadn’t realized they made it to his house until Coach Oh cleared his throat deliberately.  
  
Embarrassed, he hopped off on unsteady legs and fumbled to unlatch the helmet so he could hand it back. Coach Oh hadn’t said a word when Jongdae thanked him, just nodded and peeled off down the street. Jongdae had watched until the taillight faded into the distance.  
  
He can safely say his crush budded on that day and hadn’t faded any over the summer. In fact, with the time summer allotted him to fantasize and dream, it’d only grown more intense, particularly in the middle of warm nights.  
  
And now he’s standing in front of Coach Oh wearing his brother’s old basketball jersey that hangs loose off his scrawny frame, doing his best not to crumble under Coach Oh’s skeptical frown. This year, he’s not going to miss out on a single chance to be around Coach Oh, even if it means trying out for a sport he has no idea how to play.  
  
“Uh, well…yeah. I mean, yes, of course I am,” he answers, weak and not at all convincing.  
  
Coach Oh tucks his clipboard under his elbow and crosses his arms, more intimidating with his chest muscles flexing under his shirt. “You were in my class last term. Unless my memory’s shit, you chose to jog the track whenever we played basketball,” Coach Oh reminds him, and Jongdae winces at being caught so soon. “What position do you usually play?”  
  
“…standing up?”  
  
In Jongdae’s defense, he hadn’t had time to actually do research or practice at basketball. His friend, Chanyeol, had greeted him in front of his house before school, proudly proclaiming his intent to join the basketball team this year, and Jongdae only had minutes to ransack his brother’s closet when Chanyeol mentioned Coach Oh led the team.  
  
Unfortunately, his disguise isn’t put together well. “Why’re you here, kid?” Coach sighs.  
  
The truth is that Jongdae loves Oh Sehun, so much that he could burst with passion and live out his days at Coach Oh’s side, but he realizes it isn’t appropriate to say now. “Okay, okay, I – there’s – my friend, Chanyeol! He’s why I’m here. The tall one over there!”  
  
Jongdae points to the largest boy lumbering from one end of the court to the other, panting and pouring sweat, absolutely determined. Coach Oh checks behind him and lifts an eyebrow.  
  
“Park? What about him?”  
  
“He’s been, um, working up the courage to join the team for a while. He’s really good, but he’s super weird and awkward and bad at making friends. I want to be around so he feels kinda comfortable!” If Chanyeol could hear him lie through his teeth, he’d by five minutes into a headlock right about now.  
  
It doesn’t seem like Coach Oh will buy it at first, the silence making Jongdae bite his lips anxiously. “Are you good with organizing numbers?” Coach Oh asks abruptly.  
  
Jongdae blinks, bewildered. “Uh, yes? I guess?”  
  
“And laundry?  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Coach Oh rolls his eyes impatiently. “Laundry, can you do laundry? Y’know, wash, dry, fold?”  
  
He has no idea where this line of questioning is leading, but Jongdae nods anyway. Coach Oh nods to himself and starts to scribble on his clipboard. “The team manager last season graduated. Come back every day we have practice – Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, and if you ever miss a game and you’re not fifteen seconds from death, you’re done. No, I’m not joking.”  
  
There’s too many words said that Jongdae can’t comprehend, but it seems as if he has a spot on the team. “Oh, okay. Thank you.”  
  
“Mm. I don’t need you today, you can go. And leave...that,” Coach Oh glances up from his clipboard to give Jongdae’s hand-me-down sportswear a disdainful once-over, “at home next time.”  
  
The jab at his clothes doesn’t faze Jongdae – he has an excuse to see Coach Oh three times a week, even more when there’s a game. It means he’ll have plenty of time to hang close, observe Coach Oh without interruption and hopefully charm his way into Coach Oh’s heart.  
  
Jongdae is light and giddy on his feet for the rest of the day, grinning shamelessly on the bus ride home, while he’s making dinner for his mother, even when Chanyeol calls him later in the evening to console him for technically not making the team. He’s confused when Jongdae sounds bright and chipper as ever, but Jongdae doesn’t tell.  
  
Actually managing the team isn’t trouble at first, before they start competing against other schools. The only laundry he’s required to handle are towels and team jerseys, which haven’t arrived yet, and there’s not much equipment in the storage area he can handle without supervision. Most times he’s attached to Coach Oh’s side as a dutiful assistant, furiously jotting down each player’s strengths and weaknesses when Coach Oh tests them out, fetching whistles and stopwatches from his office and lugging the rolling cage of basketballs wherever they go.  
  
Manual labor is Jongdae’s Achilles’, but he’d gladly carry boulders up the Himalayas if it meant spending time with Coach Oh. It doesn’t bother him that Coach Oh barely looks at him when he barks orders and says his thanks through inarticulate grunts, Jongdae is smitten with it all.  
  
Just as well, Jongdae grows smitten with Coach Oh’s body now that he’s granted abundant time to ogle. Jongdae gnaws at his lip when Coach Oh bends at the knees to show proper dribbling stance, the swell of his pert rear end is outlined by his shorts, or when his biceps bulge tantalizing out of his sleeve as he hefts heavier equipment around the gymnasium. Sometimes Jongdae’s cheeks flare red just from standing next to Coach Oh and noticing how he towers over him, how imposing his stature is and how easily he could cover and fold Jongdae’s slighter body.  
  
Even more distracting, Jongdae discovers why Coach Oh keeps his skin covered during the day. After class is over, the long-sleeves and track pants become breathable clothes and Jongdae can see the broad edges of dark ink peeking out from Coach Oh’s sleeves and collar, just enough to tease Jongdae’s curiosity. There’s a cobalt blue set of roman numerals for the number fifty-seven drawn on the back of his right calf and a green pair of intertwining thorned vines winding around his left ankle, but Jongdae fantasizes about seeing the artwork hidden beneath Coach Oh’s clothes.  
  
Tattoos were never something Jongdae thought of as attractive, yet the dark lines drawn over Coach Oh’s bare body, dangerous and forbidden, are all Jongdae’s mind can conjure when he jerks off in the comfort of his room.  
  
By the day of their first home game, his crush is in full bloom and fraying his sense.  
  
The energy is palpable during classes that Friday. He and Chanyeol only share one class, but Chanyeol’s leg jitters and he gnaws his pencil in half in the middle of lecture. He told Jongdae he’s been going over different plays in his head until it’s all he can think about; Jongdae just hopes his friend remembers to walk and breathe at the same time.  
  
“You’re not going to pass out, right?” Jongdae checks while he and Chanyeol have lunch in the library. With basketball practice cutting into their usual afterschool study time, they fit more in when they can.  
  
“Dunno,” Chanyeol replies casually and nibbles into his sandwich roll. “One of coach’s defensive plays says I have to feint and pass to Nakajima in the low post, but he told me last week my feints are really obvious and bad? Why’s he making me do it then?”  
  
“Oh, oh, that thing you do when you scrunch your face up and trip?” With all the time he’s spent watching the team practice, Jongdae’s notice the little tells about all the players. Were his eyes not glued to Coach Oh the majority of the time, he’d probably know more.  
  
Chanyeol stops chewing and glares at Jongdae’s grinning face. “I only tripped because Yoojin and stupid Im Jichang kept – wait, I scrunch my face?”  
  
“Mhm, like…” Jongdae does an exaggerated impression of Chanyeol’s, twisting his face into as ugly a picture as he can make.  
  
“Shut up, you ass,” Chanyeol growls and flicks Jongdae’s pen off the table. He’s sour now, but Jongdae knows he’ll be more conscious of it later.  
  
Jongdae is a little edgy too, but not nearly as much as the players he spots around school. They’re easy to identify since their warm-up uniform have arrived, brandishing the school’s red and gold colors with pride to mask the nervousness. Jongdae wishes he’d ordered one as well, but he feels selfish asking his mother for the extra money.  
  
Coach Oh is mellow, his face no more sour than usual when the team assembles in the gymnasium after classes. Other than a few last minute drills and crucial play reminders, he lets the team play a friendly game to ease the tension, warm them up for tonight. He even joins in when the boys finally goad him into it, giving Jongdae the opportunity to swoon at his athleticism.  
  
It gets busier for Jongdae right before the game when he has to fill coolers with water and sports drink and set out towels for the players. The bleachers aren’t full but there are more people than Jongdae expected given their school’s track record for mediocre sports teams. Once everything’s set up and the game starts, he sits at the bench near table of towels with a notebook in his hands. His job now is keeping track of player scoring and recording mishaps and his chances to fawn over Coach Oh are cut short.  
  
The game isn’t knuckle-biting, their team leading the scoreboard into the fourth quarter. Chanyeol makes the final basket before the buzzer blares, solidifying the first win for their team. The bleachers erupt in cheers and Jongdae hops to feet, screeching until his voice is throat hurts and bouncing on the edge of his toes with glee. The team rushes to gather around their coach – who’s actually _smiles_ – and squeeze into giant, sweaty huddle. Jongdae tries to avoid it, but Chanyeol tugs him in as well before he can escape.  
  
In celebration, Coach Oh treats everyone to chicken and pizza and gives them tomorrow’s practice off. “But you’ll all be working your asses off Monday, so eat well while you can,” he warns them and chorus of groans fills the restaurant. It doesn’t impede their appetites any and soon the tables are covered with empty pizza boxes and thoroughly picked chicken bones. Chanyeol puts away most of a pizza by himself, Jongdae managing to sneak away a single slice under Chanyeol’s feasting.  
  
After the team’s bellies are stuffed and they start heading home in groups, Chanyeol shuffles to the washroom to clean grease from his face while Jongdae shoulders both their backpacks outside in the hallway. Jongdae is shifting his arms around restlessly, impatient to say goodnight to Coach Oh before he leaves to return the rental shuttle back to the school, but Coach Oh finds him first.  
  
“Why’re you still here?” He appears at Jongdae’s side, brow wrinkled, startling Jongdae out of his anxious thoughts. “What’s wrong? Do you need a ride again?”  
  
They’re not exactly in private, but standing in a secluded corridor of the emptying restaurant is as alone as they’ve ever been off school grounds. Jongdae quakes in his skin, unable to hold Coach Oh’s strong gaze without looking away to the floor, the Coach Oh’s zipper, the plastic bag his hand. His stomach warms knowing Coach Oh has kept the memory from last year and he stutters, mind abuzz wondering how often Coach Oh has thought of him. “O-oh, coach, I’m just, uh…Chanyeol’s in the bathroom. We’re – I’m catching the bus with him.”  
  
“Hm. He ate twice his weight tonight. Is he…well?”  
  
“Oh, he’s fine, I think. Just washing his face.”  
  
Coach Oh glances at the door behind Jongdae and nods, satisfied. “Right. Well, before you go, here.”  
  
The bag in Coach Oh’s is being held out to Jongdae, and he accepts it with confused hesitance and wide eyes. “I meant to give it to you earlier. It slipped my mind.”  
  
Jongdae faces him, silently asking for clarification, then he checks inside the bag for himself. It’s a warm-up uniform folded in protective plastic, the same make as the rest of the team with _his_ name stitched in gold. For it to be here already, it must’ve been requested back when the order forms for uniforms were due weeks ago, when Jongdae had rattled some excuse for why he didn’t have a form to submit.  
  
“This…is mine?”  
  
“Your name’s still Kim Jongdae, isn’t it?” A comfortable weight settles on Jongdae’s head, and Jongdae realizes it’s Coach Oh’s hand ruffling his hair. The gesture is so suddenly affectionate, Jongdae too accustomed to the cold and stern coach at school. “You’re not doing too bad a job, kid. Don’t think this means you can start slacking off, though.”  
  
Redness highlights Jongdae’s cheeks, his fingers twisting in the plastic bag as he revels in Coach Oh’s lingering touch, long fingers twisted in his hair. He can pretend it lasts longer and means more than it does, that it’s deliberate and only something Jongdae is allowed – he pats the other boys on the shoulder when they impress him, but never like this. He can pretend Coach Oh burns to touch him, that’d he waited for a secluded moment to take his chance. If he wanted more, took more as he pleased, Jongdae would accept it with adoration.  
  
“Coach, th –“  
  
Chanyeol breaks the moment, stumbling out of the bathroom with a wad of paper towels scrubbing his dripping face. Coach Oh’s hand drops to his side, but Jongdae can still feel his scalp tingle and doesn’t dare look up with the blush painted over his face.  
  
Coach Oh clears his throat. “You alive, Park?” he asks Chanyeol, who salutes like a sloppy cadet in response. “Good. Go home safely, both of you.”  
  
Even after he leaves, Jongdae is rooted to his spot with a fluttering heart. Chanyeol has to drag him to the bus stop before they miss their ride, but Jongdae’s spirit is still tethered to that spot and the overwhelming fervor burgeoning inside him. He considers showing the uniform to his mother, but he’s sure she would be too exhausted to give interest.  
  
Jongdae goes to school that Saturday. There’s no practice but there’s still laundry to be done, an equipment shed to organize, and he’s twice as invigorated to work hard after receiving Coach Oh’s gift yesterday. The jacket is a size too large for him, the sleeves hang down to the tips of his fingers, but Jongdae hangs it in his closet like the treasure it is. Were they in different circumstances, Jongdae thinks Coach Oh would gift him more intimate items, just to see Jongdae’s happiness.  
  
He goes for the laundry first, dreading the giant bin of used towels and jerseys as he slips into the locker room – that’s his intention. The sound of running water is coming from the shower area and there’s a gym bag lying on one of the wooden benches, one he recognizes as Coach Oh’s. With no classes and no practice today, Jongdae can only guess Coach Oh has been making use of the school’s fitness center.  
  
He steps closer, curious and too nosy for his own good but wary of the sound of water flowing just a few paces away, somewhat blocked by the stall partitions. It’s distracting, the image of Coach Oh nude, water rushing over the divots in his chiseled body, but Jongdae shakes it out of his head for now.  
  
“I’ll look. Just a few seconds,” he promises himself softly, though his heart pounds at the opportunity to discover more about his love.  
  
At first, he just peeks inside. The bag is already unzipped with items nearly tumbling out and Coach Oh never shares anything about his life, never talks about his hobbies or his favorite foods or his favorite fabric scent, things Jongdae needs to know. Most of the contents are standard, an extra set of clothes and keys to his motorcycle, a water bottle and a canister of protein powder. Jongdae makes note of Coach Oh’s cellphone case, a jeweled picture of a fluffy white cartoon dog custom print on the back of it.  
  
“A dog person?” Jongdae murmurs, having pegged his prickly coach as a lover of cats instead, but he doesn’t mind. If they lived together, they would have as many dogs as Coach Oh wants.  
  
Next to the gym bag is a pile of clothes, and Jongdae forgets to hold himself back. Folded between the sweat-soaked t-shirt and crumpled pair of shorts, there’s a band of white fabric that captures Jongdae’s attention. He plucks it up with dainty fingers, breath catching when he realizes it’s a jockstrap, _Coach Oh’s_ warm jockstrap that’s probably spent a few hours in close contact with his crotch.  
  
Jongdae stares a hole into the underwear and nibbles at his bottom lip, knowing he’s being invasive and he should put it back, but he’s desperate for anything that’ll give him a sense of what it’s like to be with Coach Oh, his imagination only able to substitute so much when he’s touching himself. If anything, he’s doing wrong to himself, cheating by stealing a preview of the future he sees. A single whiff just to sate his libido and he’d never speak of it again.  
  
“Kim Jongdae?”  
  
Jongdae squeaks and jumps out of his skin, slamming back painfully against the lockers with his hands locked behind him, Coach Oh’s jockstrap hanging from his fingers. The rush of running water had stopped without him noticing and Coach Oh is walking toward the bench, toiletries in hand and a towel slung around his waist and God, it really isn’t the time for Jongdae to lose his composure, but he can’t stop his eyes from traveling over every inch painted flesh Coach Oh is baring.  
  
It’s an abstract mural along the top of his chest and the center of his stomach muscles, deep greens and coy reds swirling and crawling up his shoulders and around his waist. There are additional pieces, pink flower petals drifting down his right arm and a flock of birds fluttering their wings down the other. Jongdae doesn’t know why, but he thinks of the wind when he sees it as a whole, currents drifting of their own volition and carrying the world with them.  
  
Finger snap right in front of his face and Jongdae jumps again, wide eyes meeting Coach Oh’s narrowed ones. The intensity there is foreign and stuns him; he’s unaccustomed to Coach Oh’s eyes on him when they’re usually averted during practice. Now that they’re unnervingly focused on him, Jongdae loses his words. “Are you listening? I told you yesterday there’s no practice today.”  
  
There’s a bench between them, but heat suffocates Jongdae as if they were skin to skin. Coach Oh’s wet hair is slicked back, beads of moisture dotting his face and arms. Jongdae blushes from the tip of his ears down to his neck, both with shame over the jockstrap and his growing boner over Coach Oh’s state of undress. He struggles to find his voice, throat parched with the desire to lick the moisture from Coach Oh’s skin, and he’s only able to speak once his gaze drops to the floor tiles.  
  
“I-I…uh…th-the laundry – and I was…” He chokes out each word, trying not seem as guilty as he is and failing. There’s no way Coach Oh won’t catch onto something; he’s never been this awkward with other guys in the locker room.  
  
“Look, next time I say no practice, take the hint. It won’t happen often.” Coach Oh grants him reprieve and walks toward his bag to put his shower supplies away. Jongdae looks up fearfully when Coach Oh reaches his discarded clothes, but he grabs them and jams them in his bag without noticing his missing underwear.  
  
Jongdae breathes and swallows his heart back down. “But…but what about the jerseys?”  
  
“I’ve got it. Go home.” Coach Oh sits turned away from Jongdae and there’s another tattoo, on his lower back and half-hidden by the towel. Jongdae salivates just a little but quickly averts his eyes when Coach Oh glances at him, one dark eyebrow raised. “Unless there’s something else?”  
  
It would be a good chance to admit his wrongdoing now while he’s given the chance, to plead for forgiveness and make it out with some semblance of dignity, but no. Jongdae isn’t thinking, Jongdae is in love.  
  
He stuffs the underwear tightly into his back pocket and shakes his head. “No, coach. Nothing.”  
  
Coach Oh nods and turns away, giving Jongdae leave to bolt from the locker room and from school grounds. His leg quakes noisily on the bus ride home and he trips taking off his shoes while running up to his room.  
  
He doesn’t wait to kick off his pants and underwear and lie back on his bed. He’s still half-hard, the memory of Coach Oh’s body is still fresh in his mind. The jockstrap dangles between his fingers, sinful and moist with sweat. Jongdae presses it to his nose, delicately at first then fully so he can take in a deep drag. It’s a masculine aroma, musky and bold that intoxicates him almost immediately.  
  
“Mm…Sehun,” he murmurs as his eyes flutter shut, breathing in the scent of his lover with the jockstrap covering the lower half of his face and sinking deeper into his haze. His lotion-slick hand drifts down to his cock, boned up painfully from just the jockstrap, and he strokes himself evenly to prolong the moment.  
  
The memory of Coach Oh in the locker room fills his mind, fleshing out the usual images he forms at night. Now there are tattoos drawn over Coach Oh’s muscled torso as he crawls over Jongdae’s body, dwarfing Jongdae’s size easily. That heavy gaze is burning into Jongdae’s skin and those hands, large and veiny and calloused, skim down his stomach. Jongdae thinks Coach Oh would be teasing at first, wanting him to suffer with little touches here and there until he’s on the brink and crying for more, and only then would Coach Oh finally slide his hand down between Jongdae’s legs, past his balls and down to his wanting hole.  
  
Jongdae hand releases his cock and moves at the same pace he imagines Coach Oh would, circling at his pucker before pushing in. It’s not lubed well enough, but it’s fine when he feels it as Coach Oh’s finger, thicker and longer, able to prod at spots with more experience and make Jongdae scream his climax. “Like that, coach, like that,” he breathes as he thrusts his finger in deeper, his teeth clenching around the jockstrap and the flavor of sweat on his tongue. He relishes in the salty taste, the burn of his finger pressing relentlessly into himself, knowing being with Coach Oh is just as raw and unrestrained.  
  
He finishes untouched, cum spattered over his shirt and up to his neck.  
  
On Monday, the guilt settles in hard.  
  
Jongdae goes through classes barely able to meet eyes with Chanyeol, his teachers or anyone who might be connected to Coach Oh, afraid they’ll see the shame written on his forehead and rightfully scorn him for it. His classmates notice his reserved behavior, so different from how loud he normally, but there’s nothing they can do to pull him out of it.  
  
Not only did he steal from Coach Oh, but he took something personal and private to satisfy his sexual fantasies with. He’s a thief _and_ a pervert at the same time, and to the man who gifted him with a jacket just days ago. Jongdae never thought he’d sink so low as a person, especially toward the man who holds his heart.  
  
He’s reasonably on edge during practice, flinching whenever Coach Oh walks by or barks an order his way. Coach Oh had to notice his underwear went missing yesterday, and any moment he could round on Jongdae, accuse of him of being a sexual deviant and expel him from school – Jongdae would deserve every bit of it. If he Jongdae were a decent, brave person, he would man up and apologize of his own volition.  
  
Thankfully, he’s never called out. Coach Oh is making good on his promise from Friday, pushing the team harder than usual and making sure they burn off anything they gained from overstuffing themselves. Jongdae works up a sweat watching them, but for most of the day he’s either running back and forth to the equipment shed or confined to a school laptop, starting a spreadsheet for the game stats. Coach Oh doesn’t treat him any differently, doesn’t glare at him or question his jumpiness, and practice ends like that.  
  
“Why’re you still all mopey-moopy?” Chanyeol jostles his shoulder as they ride the bus home, frowning at their reflection in the window. “You’ve been pouting all day.”  
  
“You wouldn’t get it,” Jongdae says under a sigh, not for the first time today. It isn’t a lie.  
  
“Well, snap out of it, would you? We gotta think of what to get Coach Oh.”  
  
Jongdae turns away from the window at mention of Coach Oh. “Wait, huh? Why?”  
  
“I already told you at lunch!” Chanyeol’s starting to get louder, gaining attention from other passengers. Jongdae shrinks in his seat. “The guys want to do a thing to thank him for helping us win, remember? Some of them have been on the team since first year and we’ve only had, like, two wins before?”  
  
If it were any other school, Jongdae would think Chanyeol is exaggerating. “Oh. Uh, all right? What do we get him?”  
  
“Ugh, that’s what we’re figuring out!”  
  
They decide to get off at the outdoor mall and shop around for anything Coach Oh might like. Given how little they actually know about him, it’s a troubled process. Jongdae has to drag Chanyeol out of several stores that are either out of their limited price range like the jewelers, impractical like adopting a pet snake, or not likely to interest Coach Oh like a gaming controller. Half the time, it seems more like Chanyeol is shopping for himself rather than for a gift.  
  
Jongdae uses it as a chance to buy Coach Oh an apology gift of sorts – not that he’s worked up the courage to confess his sins yet. While Chanyeol is hypnotized by a demo in the videogame store, Jongdae putters around outside peeking through the windows of shops they haven’t tried. His spare money is usually kept for emergencies and bus fare, but he can still afford something small without breaking his wallet.  
  
In an unlikely window, he finds the perfect gift. He walks into the toy store and down an aisle of plush animals until he spots a stuffed dog keychain with curly white fur. It’s small enough to fit in his hand and perfectly resembles the dog he saw on Coach Oh’s cellphone case. Jongdae smiles at the plush animal, sure his stern coach will be no match against it and he’s take Jongdae back with adoring arms.  
  
The next day, Jongdae visits Coach Oh’s office in the morning after the rest of the team has already dropped off their odd assortment of gifts on his desk. There’s a bag full of snapback caps, a gift card, a small tray of homemade pineapple buns, and the ice cream spoon Chanyeol _insisted_ is the perfect gift for anyone. Jongdae places the keychain on the end of the desk before rushing out, standing it up properly so it greets Coach Oh when he comes in.  
  
As expected, rather than thanking anyone at practice, Coach Oh scolds them for wasting their money on him and warns consequences for trying to bribe him in the future. It’s hard to take him seriously when a snapback, tag still attached, is already sitting comfortably on his head, and the team starts to bubble with laughter. Jongdae manages a smile when Coach Oh splutters out an order for them to run the track.  
  
In the middle of practice, Jongdae holes up inside the equipment shed to organize everything. Normally he’d only touch the basketball equipment – the other team managers should keep their own sections clean – but today he’s keeping himself occupied to avoid Coach Oh, guilt from last week still draped heavily over his shoulders.  
  
His plan effectively crumbles when Coach Oh clears his throat from the entrance and only exit of the shed, surprising Jongdae into dropping the handful of badminton rackets he gathered. “You’ve been in here for a while. What’re you up to?”  
  
“Oh, coach!” Jongdae has to glance away from Coach Oh’s suspicious stare, images of Coach Oh’s inked body crippling his ability to converse normally. “I’m just, uh, keeping busy. Cleaning up stuff and…stuff.”  
  
Jongdae crouches to pick up the rackets and almost falls on his rear when Coach Oh does the same, suddenly so close to him. “I told you before, this isn’t your job. Those other lazy assholes shouldn’t be leaving work for us. Don’t give them a free pass.”  
  
Jongdae nods obediently at Coach Oh’s gruff order. “I know, I know. I guess I got… carried away.”  
  
“Is that so?” Coach Oh sounds skeptical and Jongdae’s stomach twists at having to lie yet again.  
  
When all of the rackets are cleared up, Jongdae gives the ones in his arms to Coach Oh. The only free space on the wall rack is too high for Jongdae to reach comfortably, but Coach Oh barely as to look up. It’s easier to breath without Coach Oh’s attention on him and easier for Jongdae to think clearly. They’re alone now and it’s the perfect chance for him to finally come clean, rid some of the guilt weighing him down. His heart sinks knowing after such a heinous act, this could be his last time speaking to Coach Oh, but he’s not unwilling to bed for forgiveness if he has to.  
  
“Um…coach?”  
  
“Hm?” He still isn’t facing Jongdae, but it doesn’t make the apology come out any smoother.  
  
“Well, I-I…um,” Jongdae stammers over himself, licking his lips anxiously. “When we were…in the locker room? O-on Saturday, I mean. I…while you were showering, I –“  
  
“You ran off with my jock?”  
  
Jongdae freezes, stunned eyes on Coach Oh’s back. Coach Oh only turns around once he’s finished hanging the rackets, his quirked eyebrow more amused than condemning. “I finished washing up and watched you poke around my things for a good few minutes. You really think I didn’t notice?  
  
“Of all my students, you’re the first to act so boldly.”

 

\--*--

 

It wasn’t a mistake when Coach Oh’s eyes speared through Jongdae that day. He knew all along, gave Jongdae the opportunity to admit his wrongs, yet Jongdae was too lost in lust to realize. His eyes burn with shame and he lowers his head. “Coach Oh, I’m so sor –“  
  
“Did you use it?”  
  
Jongdae’s gaze snaps up to see Coach Oh sauntering forward, his eyes boring into Jongdae’s with familiar heat. “I don’t – what?”  
  
Coach Oh doesn’t pause and Jongdae has no choice but to step back, his back impacting the soccer ball caged after a few blind steps. Jongdae shrinks in on himself as he’s crowded, Coach Oh leaning over Jongdae with his forearm braced against the cage and his imposing body a thread’s width away from pressuring Jongdae’s, his presence intense enough to stifle Jongdae’s breath.  
  
“You took it for a reason, didn’t you?” Coach Oh’s stares down at Jongdae unblinking, refusing to let Jongdae’s focus waver. “Did you use it? Jerk off with it?”  
  
The heat spikes around them and blood rushes up Jongdae’s face. Coach Oh is _so_ close, waiting for an answer Jongdae is too flustered to give. Jongdae is sure Coach Oh knows what effect he’s causing, humiliating Jongdae as a dose of payback before he assigns a punishment. Still, Jongdae would never protest having him so close.  
  
He nods shortly, but Coach Oh doesn’t let. “No, use your mouth. Tell me what you did.”  
  
“I…I masturbated with it,” Jongdae finally breathes, but even then Coach Oh still waits for more. “I-in my room, I was alone and I, um, smelled it – smelled you.”  
  
“And you thought about me while you touched yourself?”  
  
“…yeah. Yes.”  
  
Jongdae doesn’t expect the corner of Coach Oh’s mouth to lift in a smirk, confusing him even more. “Kim Jongdae, I misjudged you. You play innocent, but you’re just a little pervert.”  
  
Hearing it aloud makes Jongdae feel even worse and he rushes to defend himself. His actions are more love than lust. “I’m not! Really! I just –“  
  
“You just had your face buried in my jock jacking off to me,” Coach interrupts, silencing Jongdae immediately. “How was it, hm? Were you trying to get a taste of my dick? Or was it my hand jerking you off?”  
  
Despite the precarious situation he’s in, Jongdae can’t help how quickly he starts to bone up in his pants. The filthy words spilling from Coach Oh’s mouth only fuel his rampant imagination, worse now with Coach Oh’s body nearly pushed against him. Coach Oh covers him just like Jongdae knew he would, absolutely _smothers_ him. “You were just – just there. With me.”  
  
“C’mon, Jongdae. I know someone like _you_ isn’t that boring.” Coach Oh clicks his tongue disbelievingly as he slots his knee between Jongdae’s quivering thighs, the sudden contact sparking Jongdae. “Tell me the truth.”  
  
Coach Oh’s muscled thigh presses against Jongdae’s crotch and Jongdae chokes on his words, his hips jumping forward to grind against it on instinct. “C-coach!” he gasps as Coach Oh lifts his leg purposely, rubbing the underside of Jongdae’s clothed erection in teasingly short motions.  
  
“What’s wrong? You usually love using this cute mouth of yours.” Coach Oh raises his hand to swipe his thumb over Jongdae’s soft lower lip from corner to corner. He isn’t concerned with how Jongdae’s panting fills the air and Jongdae’s hands splaying over his chest, twisting into his shirt for stability. “Tell me, Jongdae.”  
  
“F-fingers. Fingers!” Jongdae cries out, desperation clawing at him as he dry humps Coach Oh’s thigh.  
  
“Ah. So I fingerfucked you.” As a reward, Coach Oh pushes him forward and gives Jongdae a little more precious friction. Jongdae takes it gladly, mewling at the sweet torture his coarse denim jeans makes for his hard-on. “I was getting you ready for me, wasn’t I? Getting you ready so I could sit you on my cock, nice and pretty. That’s what you wanted, yeah?” Coach Oh hisses, his face close so he can see every instance of pleasure play over Jongdae’s.  
  
Jongdae shudders, his grip in Coach Oh’s shirt going white-knuckled as he spills over generously into his underwear, a wet patch forming in his jeans. Coach Oh works him through it, shifting his thigh until Jongdae’s body jerks with oversensitivity.  
  
Minutes pass before Jongdae can focus his bleary eyes, catch his breath, stand on his feet without crumpling. Coach Oh steps back a safe distance, silent and facing away while Jongdae recuperates. The dissipating fog in Jongdae’s mind doesn’t stop him from noticing the bulge in Coach Oh’s shorts, the outline of his erection prodding heavily at the fabric.  
  
Coach Oh clears his throat, attention on a pile frayed volleyball nets. Perspiration is beaded over his forehead, he isn’t as composed as usual. “Don’t…don’t hide in here too long.” One last glance at Jongdae then he leaves the shed.  
  
Jongdae doesn’t heed the warning and Coach Oh never comes back to fetch him. He’s stuck in the same spot as when Coach Oh left, the wet spot on his pants drying slowly as his thoughts spiral in disorder. The whistle signaling the end of practice blares less than an hour later and Jongdae scurries to the bus with his eyes on the ground. Chanyeol prods him on the ride home, noticing his strange behavior immediately, but Jongdae barely notices.  
  
At home, the homework in his backpack is left ignored in the corner of his room. There’s no way his mind can function it’s busy replaying the details of earlier – a solid knee wedged between his thighs, filthy words hissed in his ear, the sight of a sinful bulge hard for _him_. His skin is still alight hours later and he doesn’t hesitate to touch himself, Coach Oh’s name on his breath until he cums.  
  
He doesn’t know what to expect next practice, but the normalcy he receives throws him off.  
  
Jongdae shuffles into the gymnasium, hands clasped and bracing himself for any reaction Coach Oh would have, but there’s none. Like always, Coach Oh doesn’t look at him and barks an order for him to set up equipment for drills, no more affectionate or colder than usual. Jongdae nods silently, puzzled, and does as he’s told. He waits for some sign that Coach Oh is at least affected by what happened throughout practice, but there’s no conversation, no unreadable glance his way, not even a touch of his shoulder.  
  
It feels as if nothing happened at all.  
  
Maybe it was irrational to hope Coach Oh would stop the charade, confess his feelings and ask Jongdae out on a date, but Jongdae didn’t think he’d be this disappointed by Coach Oh ignoring the whole thing. For Jongdae, it’d been all the security in their relationship he needed; Coach Oh desires him just as Jongdae knew he would, there was nothing more left to discuss. As far he’s concerned, mutual affection is all two people need to be together, and both of them share it in spades. He sits on the bleachers during practice, hands clasped tightly between his knees and frowning pensively in thought, wondering how to broach the issue.  
  
The only reassurance Jongdae finds that he hasn’t been hallucinating the past week is when he goes to retrieve something from Coach Oh’s office. Coach Oh’s gym bag is lying on the floor beside the desk, and hanging from the zipper is the dog keychain Jongdae bought for him. His heart stammers with certainty that Coach Oh knows it was from him; no one else has seen Coach Oh’s cell phone since he never takes it out bag during practice. Coach Oh had felt Jongdae’s sincerity, accepted his apology and was waiting for Jongdae to take notice in such sly manner.  
  
Jongdae thinks himself a fool forever doubting him.  
  
A week later, Coach Oh doesn’t show up for practice at all. Another one of the coaches shows up at in the locker room instead, informing the team that Coach Oh is out for the day before they can get changed. The boys look at each other with oddly for a moment, skeptical of their diligent coach suddenly going missing, but they accept it as a day off for themselves and leave without worry. Jongdae isn’t as easily placated. The only occasion Coach Oh accepts taking sick days for is when death is the only other option, so it’s unlikely he’s dealing with a few sniffles.  
  
Jongdae pushes a nosy Chanyeol off toward the bus and detours toward the student services office. It takes a bit of loud, pitiful whining, but one of the clerks finally gives Jongdae Coach Oh’s home address when he swears it’s just to pay a visit to his sick teacher. Luckily, it’s not too far from his own address.  
  
After a quick stop home, Jongdae is shuffling his feet outside the door of Coach Oh’s apartment with a bowl held tight to his stomach, working up the courage to knock or ring the doorbell. The air outside is brisk, but the thought of Coach Oh’s pleased face when he realizes Jongdae picked up on his hint makes him warms him to the core. When he finally does knock, soft and hesitant, it’s only a few seconds before the door opens and Coach Oh is standing in front of him.  
  
His hair is mussed, there’s stubble covering his jaw and he’s wearing a just a tight white tank top and shorts, yet Jongdae’s attention isn’t on display of tattoos. There’s white bandaging winding up Coach Oh’s arm from the wrist to his elbow, dried blood soaked through over a wide area. It hasn’t been changed in a while.  
  
“Of course it’s you,” Coach Oh grunts, dragging Jongdae’s gaze up to his stony frown. It’s the first time he’s looked at Jongdae since the time in the equipment shed, and Jongdae struggles not to conjure up those memories right now. He’s disappointed in Coach Oh’s reaction, but easily chalks it up to the injury.  
  
“Um…we heard you canceled because you’re sick.” Jongdae holds the bowl out for Coach Oh to take. “And I brought stew?”  
  
Coach Oh tosses an uninterested glance at the offered bowl. “I’m not sick. Go home.”  
  
He makes to close the door, but Jongdae speaks up before he can. “What happened to your arm? You’re still bleeding!”  
  
Coach Oh leans against the doorjamb, realizing Jongdae doesn’t plan on letting him go so easily. “A pothole. I fell off my bike last night and tore it to shit. Nothing big.”  
  
“You haven’t changed the gauze in a while,” Jongdae comments and looks down to the bloodstain drenching the bandage. “You can’t…manage it one-handed, right?”  
  
From the way Coach Oh’s eyebrow twitches, Jongdae hit the mark. “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying and go home.”  
  
“But I can help!”  
  
“I don’t _need_ –“  
  
“I’ve done it plenty of times before.” Jongdae offers brightly. He doesn’t get to keep a chaotic friend like Chanyeol without knowing his way around a first-aid kit.  
  
Coach Oh sighs, deep and heavy, and stares at Jongdae for a while. “You’re not going away, are you?”  
  
Jongdae responds with a pleasant smile. “It’ll be quick.”  
  
Whether Coach Oh believes him or not, he snatches the bowl and steps away from the door, muttering, “Persistent,” under his breath. Jongdae takes it as an invitation to come inside, shedding his shoes and jacket and reveling in the warmth after being outside.  
  
There isn’t much to admire in Coach Oh’s apartment. It’s clearly lived in with a sweatshirt balled up on the sofa and stained dishes in the sink, but there are only a few pictures of a family or friends displayed in the living room and not a single stylish knickknack to be found. Jongdae wanders around the small space with soft steps while Coach Oh rummages around on the coffee table. He gets the impression Coach Oh isn’t a sentimental person. Once they’re living together, Jongdae plans to add plenty of color to the décor.  
  
“In the bathroom, so there’s no mess,” Coach Oh says after he gathers up gauze and rubbing alcohol, knocking over bottles of medication in the process. Jongdae nods and follows behind as Coach leads them to the bathroom, eying the edges of tattoos peeking out from his tank top with pinkened ears.  
  
The bathroom is a much smaller space. Jongdae notices the spike in temperature immediately when they’re in closer quarters. Coach Oh drops the items in his hand on the sink counter and sits heavily on the toilet seat. His eyes are on Jongdae when he lifts his injured arm pointedly, causing Jongdae’s skin to heat up a little more.  
  
“Okay, I’ll just…get rid of this,” Jongdae murmurs as he tiptoes closer, but not too close to intrude in Coach Oh’s space. He’s nervous as it is without being in direct contact with his lover, he wouldn’t be able to function if he were in the spot between Coach Oh’s long legs.  
  
One trembling hand cradles Coach Oh’s wrist as he peels off the adhesive tape keeping the gauze on, pulling back the bloodstained bandaging slowly so he doesn’t disturb the wound too much. There are multiple jagged tears running up Coach Oh’s forearm, but none of them deep enough to cause more than some unfortunate scarring. Jongdae disposes of the bandage and wets a washcloth under the warm tap, using it to gently scrub away the dried blood crusted in the wound.  
  
It’s easy to work so long as he keeps his attention religiously on Coach Oh’s arm. He can feel Coach Oh’s gaze boring into his face the entire time, intense enough send a shiver down his spine, but he avoids it. As much as he wants collapse in Coach Oh’s arms to sink into the faint scent of Coach Oh tickling his nose, it’s more important to him to make sure the redressing is done well.  
  
“You’re not bad,” Coach Oh remarks after Jongdae finishes cleaning his arm, his gruff voice startling Jongdae and making him drop the washcloth to the floor. He isn’t accustomed to Coach Oh conversing normally with him, but he finds he likes it already. “Not even bothered by blood.”  
  
“Thanks.” Jongdae blushes faintly from being complimented and picks up the washcloth to place in the sink. “I’ve had practice.”  
  
Coach Oh nods and doesn’t press for details. “Wouldn’t expect that from you. Just don’t do anything too reckless,” he cautions. Jongdae doesn’t bother clarifying it’s not himself he patches up and dabs the cotton ball wet with alcohol over Coach Oh’s cuts. “It starts to become a habit the older you – _shit_ , that stings.”  
  
Jongdae bites his lips to hide his fondness at Coach Oh’s pained scowling. “You’ve scratched yourself up more than this?” He asks, distractedly spreading ointment over Coach Oh’s forearm. “Hopefully not always this bad.”  
  
“Not always literally. Not always this…painful.” Coach Oh looks forward, seeming lost in his memories. It makes it easier for Jongdae to wrap his arm in gauze. “The costs of bad decisions show up in different forms. The less familiar you are with them, the better.”  
  
Jongdae pauses momentarily, his grip around the roll of gauze tight enough to bend it. “Is that…is that why you haven’t mentioned it?”  
  
He doesn’t need to specify for Coach Oh to catch on. “That…was a mistake. On my part,” he admits under a heavy breath. His eyes are shut, hiding the emotion in them from Jongdae. “I’ve needed to apologize to you for it for a while now.”  
  
“No, you don’t have to!” Jongdae blurts out and touches Coach Oh’s shoulder hesitantly, but he garners no response. “It was meant to happen. I don’t think of it as a mistake.”  
  
Coach Oh snorts in false humor. “’Course you don’t, you’re a kid. You’re not supposed to be the level-headed one between us.”  
  
“Listen, coach –”  
  
“You’re done, right?” Coach Oh pulls his arm from Jongdae’s grip, examining the handiwork. Other than the excessive taping, Jongdae’s dressing is neat and thorough. “Looks good. Thanks.”  
  
When Coach Oh stands, Jongdae is quick to move in front of the doorway to bar him from leaving. It’d be easy for someone Coach Oh’s size to simply shove Jongdae out of the way, but he halts when Jongdae holds up his hands to stop him, Jongdae’s fingertips grazing his stomach.  
  
“Just, just wait. Please,” Jongdae pleads shakily, losing his nerve as heat seeps through Coach Oh’s undershirt and warms his fingers. “Is it really so difficult to… _be_ with me? I’m a little younger, I know that, but you can’t just deny –”  
  
“A little younger?” Coach Oh cuts in, his expression incredulous. “I’m twenty-eight years and you’re ‘a little younger?’”  
  
Jongdae falters, having been a few years off when he guessed Coach Oh’s age from his appearance, but he’s undeterred still. “Does it matter? If we want each other, it shouldn’t –“  
  
“Look, there’s really nothing to discuss.” In a rare display of discomfort, Coach Oh reaches up to the rub scrub his fingers through his hair, unable to face Jongdae through the turmoil racking him. “I shouldn’t have done…what we did. That’s not something you’re ready for, and I shouldn’t have lost my fucking head. Fuck, I knew it from the day you came to try-outs. I’d take it back if I could, but I all I can too is keep saying I’m sorry.”  
  
“But I don’t want you to take it back!” Jongdae’s voice grows louder as his frustration mounts, starting to feel Coach Oh isn’t hearing a word he’s saying. All he’s dreamt of for months is to be close with Coach Oh, and now he’s being told it isn’t _right_. “Just because I’m a student doesn’t mean I’m delicate or gullible. I can handle being with you.”  
  
Coach Oh shakes his head. “You don’t have a single idea of the shirt that goes through my head when I look at you – it’s why I _can’t_ look at you. Every time, I wanted to…” He trails off with a tremor in his shoudlers and makes to leave the bathroom, pushing between Jongdae and the sink. “Even if it were that simple, you’re in over your head.”  
  
 _“I can!”_  
  
In a rush of boldness, Jongdae shoves Coach Oh back before he can leave, catching the larger man off guard and sending him stumbling back against the sink. Jongdae moves between his legs, palms flat over Coach Oh’s stomach. “I can, I-I’ll show you!”  
  
When he doesn’t hear protest, Jongdae drops to his knees so he’s eye level with Coach Oh’s crotch, his fingers crooked in the waistband of Coach Oh’s shorts and underwear. The adrenaline wanes quickly the further down he tugs Coach Oh’s shorts down his pale hips, mixed apprehension and excitement replacing it as more of Coach Oh’s bare cock is revealed to him.  
  
He pauses once the shorts are stretched around Coach Oh’s knees and Coach Oh’s not-quite soft dick dangles in front of his wide eyes – it’s the first time he’s seen another man like this. Compared to his own Coach Oh seems far above the average size, and all Jongdae can do is observe with a dry mouth. He knows what he should be doing, how he planned on showing Coach he’s ready and more than willing, but foolhardiness is no substitute for experience and his body refuses to move, his fingers tremble where they’re still hooked in Coach Oh’s shorts.  
  
Coach Oh isn’t make any move to push away or bark at him to stand up despite the pregnant pause in action. Jongdae peers up through his lashes, Coach Oh suddenly so high above him, and those eyes are trained on him unblinkingly, deep and intimidating with intensity as always. His hands grip the edge of the sink harshly, the muscles in his arms flex from it, like he’s forcing himself to keep his hands stationary. Jongdae doesn’t know what it means.  
  
His eyes narrow and his lip curls in an unkind smirk. “What’s the matter? You push and push, but this is as far you go, huh? Do you even know what you’re doing?”  
  
Jongdae lowers his gaze, willing himself not to crumble under Coach Oh’s taunting. He focuses on Coach Oh’s cock and how Coach Oh is still aroused by him, even as cold words try to dissuade him. Confidence surges and Jongdae’s hand finally moves, wrapping his fingers hesitantly around Coach Oh’s length, pushing away the distracting sensation of how warm it is, how hefty it feels in grip.  
  
There’s the slightest intake of air above him and Jongdae knows he’s doing something right. He squeezes lightly, strokes Coach Oh from the base of his cock up until his thumb teases the head, experimenting and getting accustomed to it gradually. He’s rewarded when Coach Oh hardens, skin burning to the touch and his girth thick, difficult for Jongdae to keep his fingers circled around it.  
  
A clear droplet of precum beads from the slit and Jongdae, out of curiosity more than purpose, leans forward to draw his tongue over it. It doesn’t taste particularly pleasant, not worth the enthusiasm he’s watched people give blowjobs with on his computer screen, but Coach Oh’s hips jerk noticeably and that’s all the incentive Jongdae needs. He licks again, tongue flat over the head and dipping into the slit, and again from the side with his tongue curling under the helmet, thrilled when Coach Oh jerks in time with each delicate touch.  
  
“Jongdae…Kim Jongdae…you’re a _curse_.” Coach Oh’s voice is rough above him. Jongdae’s cock throbs to life in his trousers at the sound, the words holding nothing but compliments to him.  
  
Realizing he has the freedom to now, Jongdae explores, trailing his tongue down the underside of Coach Oh’s length while mouthing aimlessly at the velvety skin caressing his lips. It seems familiar to him as he laps down near the base, the scent and taste of Coach Oh’s jockstrap resurfacing in his mind. It’s similar, but the taste of salty skin on his tongue is raw and the masculine scent wafting in his nose is twice as heady. He drowns in it willing, pressing soft kisses to Coach Oh’s balls with a hand squeezed around Coach Oh’s cock.  
  
It isn’t until he tries to take it further, encouraged on by the low noises Coach Oh can’t stifle, that Jongdae’s inexperience becomes a hindrance. He draws back to envelop the leaking tip of Coach Oh’s cock between his lips, grimacing at the bitter flavor that coats his tongue but accepting anything, anything for his lover. He moves to take in more, tucking his teeth behind his lips and flattening his tongue, but he barely suckles past the head before a gag shudders through his chest and he recoils.  
  
Shaken and embarrassed at the sound that came from his throat, Jongdae strokes Coach Oh with a quivering hand and tries again, this time stuffing more into his mouth quicker in effort to bypass his reflex, but the reaction is even worse. He chokes loudly, eyes clenched and spit dribbling from the corner of his mouth, the odd sensation of Coach Oh’s cock teasing the back of his throat forcing him to pull back. No matter what angle he twists his head or how slowly he moves, he can’t fit more than half of Coach Oh into his mouth each time. Soon his eyes water with frustration and his throat feels hoarse from coughing, his cheeks red and his breath in pants from how determined he is to succeed, to prove how much he would do for Coach Oh.  
  
A hand gentle in his hair pulls him back slowly, the first action Coach Oh has made since Jongdae pushed him against the sink. His grip forces Jongdae to look up, for their eyes to meet and the depthless fervor in Coach Oh’s brown irises to immobilize him. Coach’s other hand trails reverently over Jongdae’s face, a calloused thumb trailing through the tear stains down Jongdae’s ruddy cheeks and down to the drool glistening at his chin.  
  
“God, no… _fuck_ ,” Coach Oh whimpers, brimming with desperation and ache, then he cums. Jongdae barely has the chance to close his eyes before the warm spray hits his face, dripping thickly down his cheeks.  
  
Jongdae doesn’t deny the sense of accomplishment swelled inside him, the liberty he feels at breaking past the barrier Coach Oh erected between them, but Coach Oh’s face isn’t wrought with pleasure like Jongdae had imagined. His eyes are clenched tight and he’s murmuring something to himself, too low for Jongdae to hear. His hands have fallen from Jongdae’s face, passive, making no attempt to redress himself.  
  
Nothing is spoken while Jongdae cleans his face with leftover gauze. Coach Oh doesn’t move at all until Jongdae’s hoarse voice speaks his name, and he’s unable to look at Jongdae directly when he does, gaze on Jongdae’s neck instead of the face he soil minutes ago.  
  
“What am I doing?” he asks, words airy and aimless, disappointed and defeated. Jongdae sidles close to him chest to bicep, both his smaller hands cradling one of Coach Oh’s listless hands, and he’s delighted when Coach Oh doesn’t pull away. “What the _hell_ is wrong with me?”  
  
“Hm, nothing at all.” Jongdae’s head leans on Coach Oh’s shoulder and the smile curled on his lips fills with affection. “To me, you’re perfect.”


End file.
